


Prisoner 11201

by DukeDoitsu



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: America/England Feels (Hetalia), Hetalia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 17:00:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20642585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DukeDoitsu/pseuds/DukeDoitsu
Summary: When Alfred F. Jones was arrested for aggravated assault against wealthy and influential business man Francis Bonnefoy, a prison guard fresh off the boat of the UK will do anything to prove his innocence. What mysteries will he unravel as he searched for the





	1. Chapter 1

Nothing but chains, despair, and the color orange entered the city prison. This was now the home of criminals. Guilty criminals. Each and every individual had their story; How did they end up here? What exactly did they do? Did they have a family? Were they sentenced for years? Weeks? Days? Unfortunately, no matter how truthful the story may be, it will always be the story of a criminal. It wasn’t good enough for freedom. Freedom comes with a price, that’s the irony of it all. After all, nothing in this world comes for free.  
The guards at the entrance were counting each person, checking off their name on a clipboard before moving onto the other. Some acted tough, some acted scared. But the one in the back… he seemed proud. No sign of fear, his strong chest puffed out, his head held high. He had no expression, but he didn’t need one to be read.  
Finally, it was his turn. He stepped up to the guard, lifting his eyes that were drenched in what it appeared to be guilt.  
“Name?” the officer asked, or, rather, demanded. His accent was rather thick, had to be European. Possibly Austrian or Hungarian… or maybe German?  
The man’s hair was slicked back neatly underneath his hat, the pomade he used giving it a sort of dull shine.  
“Alfred F. Jones,” the male replied.  
The German officer took a few bullet points of notes on his pad of paper, before giving him a quick glance.  
“Alfred F. Jones... Right. Over there.” the officer raised a gloved hand, gesturing towards a line up where their picture would be taken. A nameplate was given to him, with his name and his prison number; 11201. “Face the front. No smiling.”  
With a sigh, He lifted the plate to his chest where he was soon flashed by a camera.  
“Turn.”  
A profile shot. The plate was taken from him and the German officer pointed to another male. “Follow Officer Carriedo. He will take you to your cell.”  
Another male stepped forward; he was much darker than the first. His brown curls partially covered his eyes. It was… attractive, in a certain sense. He reached out seized Alfred’s arm. He had a rather tight grip. “Vamos, amigo. This way.” His tone was low, but it could be heard over the sound of cells slamming closed. Alfred was brought to a cell that was second to last on the right. It was like any normal cell: a bed, blanket, toilet, and a sink. There had been writing from the past inmates left behind, most being a countdown until their release.  
“In.” The Spanish officer spoke.  
Slowly, Alfred stepped in, and the sound of the cell closing followed after him, followed by a click. The American didn't turn around at first, he waited for the sound of footsteps to fade off. He was now alone. No Matthew, No good meals, no comforting clothing, no life. And yet.. All of this wasn’t even his fault. 

\--

Alfred sat in silence for almost an hour after that. He’d found it rather peaceful, surprisingly. He felt quite content just lounging back against his stiff cot, losing himself in his own little world.

It didn’t last long.

The metallic whine of his cell door opening startled him. He scrambled into a sitting position, almost hitting his head against the bottom of the top bunk, as the Hispanic guard from earlier ushered a rather stoic-looking man into the cell.

The man’s gaze fell on Alfred, and a chill went down his spine. He’d seen those cold eyes before. On the news.

Ivan Braginsky.

He was a tall, Russian male with light blonde hair. His skin was naturally pale, and he was well built. Ivan went on about how he was arrested for breaking a glass bottle of vodka against a drunk man and pulled him into an alley where he proceeded to eviscerate him with a dagger. Talk about a murder case! Alfred couldn't complain though. After all, he did something just as bad. 

“New members?”  
“Ja.. They aren’t much of a talking bunch. So they shouldn’t give you much trouble tonight.”  
“I would be able to handle them if they did, Ludwig.”  
“But that is something you should not have to deal with, Kirkland.”  
Arthur Kirkland walked beside his chief, Ludwig Beilschmidt, who transferred from Germany a few years ago for his excellent training skills in the academy. Arthur on the other hand, he was good. But he wasn’t AS good. He was still considered new since he had been working there for a year now. He trained in England at a police academy in London. He graduated as one of the highest in his class, but that was different in America.  
“I’m trusting you to hold the fort down for the night. I’m sure you know the rules, Ja?”  
Crossing his arms, Arthur replied, “I’m not a rookie, you know. I very well know how to hold a prison, let alone the prisoners.”  
“Right.. Well, I’m off then. I have to meet up with an old friend of mine.” Ludwig turned and removed the cap on top of his head. “Viel Glück.”


	2. Chapter 2

Alfred’s cell was dimly lit; the only light provided came from the hall. Some prisoners sat on their beds, sulking or making escape plans, while others actually took the time to get some rest. Alfred, in particular, was staring off into space, lost in thought. Was Matthew okay? How was he holding up, all on his own? Was he getting the help he needed? So many questions swam through his mind, but it was unlikely that they’d ever be answered.  
“My.. you are quite the silent type.”  
“Huh?”  
Ivan was sitting on the top bunk, an unsettling, manufactured grin plastered across his face, his legs dangling off the side of the bed. He kicked them back and forth idly, as if he were a bored little kid. The feigned innocence made Alfred shudder. His hands rested atop each other in his lap. They appeared to be clenched tightly around each other. The bright orange uniform that they had all been assigned appeared neon against his almost translucent skin… Orange was definitely not his color...and the pink scarf that he had carefully draped around his neck definitely did not help matters…. Why did he still have it? Did the guards let him keep it? He looked like a porcelain doll, and in the unsettling way, not the attractive one...  
“Look, dude... I’m not exactly in the mood for conversation,” Alfred tried, in vain, to frisk the stiff prison pillow as thoroughly as possible, before flopping onto his side, setting his glasses aside. He huffed slightly when his head hit the pillow.  
It was still hard. Figures.  
“How rude... I’m simply trying to make friends, and my cellmate won’t cooperate. We’re going to be together for quite some time, da? So, you better get used to me, because I’m all you’ve got, friend~” Ivan let out a cute laugh, the bed squeaking as he adjusted his position.  
“Please, man. I really don’t want to talk. Will you do me a favor and just shut up?”  
For a moment, a hush fell over the room. Alfred let out a sigh of relief, shifting a bit as he tried to find the right sleeping position.  
Then, without warning, the sound of shoes hitting the ground broke the silence. Ivan was now towering over Alfred, who had, for the second time that day, almost hit his head as he rushed to sit up. He frantically reached for his glasses, haphazardly shoving them onto his face.  
Alfred now eyed Ivan warily, leaning away from the much larger man as he bent down to look him in the eye.  
“Perhaps I should show you the proper way to choke someone.”  
\--  
Arthur sat in the security guard’s office, perusing over some of the new prisoner’s files. He was to hold onto them for the warden, who would be coming to collect the files early in the morning. The room smelled like coffee. It was probably because there was a coffee machine in the corner. It always seemed to be in use, no matter what time of day it was. He soon began to scroll through a bit of the security footage, quickly growing tired of reading through the new files. After looking through a couple, his attention was drawn back to the stack of new prisoner’s reports.  
Something about that last file…. It didn’t sit right with him.

All stamped with “GUILTY” in bright red ink. He lifted up the top page:  
NAME: Ivan Braginsky  
SEX: Male  
AGE: 26  
D.O.B.: December 30  
HEIGHT: 182 cm  
EYES: Violet  
HAIR: Platinum Blonde/Silver  
CONVICTION: Stabbing male in alley behind bar with a dagger. Autopsy Report: Wounds in lower abdomen caused both internal and external bleeding, causing death to male. Bruises on legs and near mandible. Second Degree Murder- Sentence 25 years. 

“Not the first...” Arthur mumbled to himself, pushing it away and moving to another:  
NAME: Wang Yao  
SEX: Male  
AGE: 29  
D.O.B: October 1  
HEIGHT: 169 cm  
EYES: Brown  
HAIR: Black  
CONVICTION: Poisoned food critic through esophagus. Sprinkled arsenic on a meal and critic ingested the poison. First Degree Murder- Sentenced 25 years. 

“Arsenic… How in the bloody hell did he acquire arsenic...?” Still, it continued to amaze him. How people could screw up so badly. Moving the paper out of the way, he looked at another. 

NAME: Alfred F. Jones  
SEX: Male  
AGE: 19  
D.O.B: July 4  
HEIGHT: 177 cm  
EYES: Blue  
HAIR: Blonde  
CONVICTION: Attempt to murder wealthy Francis Bonnefoy in his home. Bruises left around neck, arms, and body. Aggravated Assault- Sentence 20 years. 

“Hm…” Arthur stared intently at this file. 

That name… Francis Bonnefoy… Where had he heard that name before? 

His hands put the reports back in the file neatly before placing it back into its original position. That name haunted his mind; He couldn’t put his finger on it. He knew the name from somewhere…  
Arthur sighed, rising up from his chair and moving towards the window. He looked out, gazing upon the city. It looked beautiful at night. The city lights danced against the night sky like stars. Too bad they couldn’t see the real thing out here.

“....HEY MAN!!! GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!!!” a voice cried out, breaking the almost eerie silence that had fallen over the prison as night fell.  
Arthur’s attention was immediately drawn towards the source of the noise, quickly grabbing his flashlight, keys, and handcuffs. He ran out of the room, following the sound of the screaming. 

\--

Ivan stood above Alfred with his hands tightly around the other. His odd smile turned malicious as he began to laugh, the tone of his voice, manic, “I gave you a chance, friend~ I only wanted to chat!” 

Alfred’s face was losing color, his sharp protests turning to gasps as he continued to kick and thrash around in an almost futile attempt to push his assailant away. It wasn’t even the first night, and he was already being choked out.  
“Let...Go..!” he’d barely managed to squeak out. 

“Oi! Unhand him, now!” 

Ivan’s attention was pulled away from the suffocating American to the lean-built, British officer, who was now fumbling with his keys as he tried to open the cell door. “Ah... My bad. Must have had a little slip~” his grip loosened around the other’s neck, which felt like it would snap any second. Alfred gasped for air as he slipped from Ivan’s grasp, practically falling to the ground, holding his throat as he tried to regain his breath. 

“Didn’t you learn from your past mistakes, Braginsky?” Arthur finally managed to unlock the door, pushing it open and pulling out his handcuffs. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me.” 

Ivan, with his deceiving little smile still painted across his face, turned towards Alfred and bent down close to his ear. “...I liked seeing you tremble…~”  
Arthur stepped forward, forcing the Russian’s arms behind his back and handcuffing his wrists together, before grabbing his muscular upper arm, making sure to keep his grip tight. Just by squeezing the large muscle, Arthur had a good idea of how strong Ivan was, and what he could’ve done to Jones, within seconds, with strength like that... He quickly ushered him out of the cell, turning back and locking the door, his eyes shooting towards Alfred.  
“I’ll be back.”  
He guided Ivan down the hallway, the dimly lit corridor soon being plunged into darkness. He led him to another door a ways down from the other cells. Glancing at the door, alone, one could tell exactly what kind of room this was. A solid red door with a small window, one that can open and close. Arthur unlocked the door and revealed a tiny room, tiled floor to ceiling with nothing but padding. “In. Maybe now you’ll think about what you’ve done. Don’t do anything stupid.”  
The Russian male slowly stepped in, his hands still behind him. His body turned to Arthur, grinning. “I’m not the crazy one here.”  
“...Could’ve fooled me,” Arthur said before shutting the door, locking it and closing the window. Sigh. “...I thought Ludwig said there wouldn’t be disturbances.” he shoved his keys into his pocket and gave the door one last look before heading back to the cell. 

\--  
Alfred was now on his knees, his hands still on his neck. He could still feel Ivan’s cold fingers digging into his skin, desperately trying to break him, right then and there. He still felt like he was suffocating. His own hands shakily reached up, nails desperately scratching at his neck... And then.. 

“Hey. Are you alright?” 

Alfred's head snapped up, eyes wide with fear as he swiftly moved his hands away from his throat.  
“...Yeah. I’m fine... He didn’t like the look I gave him!” he laughed a bit. 

Lies. 

Arthur examined the man carefully. It was now much more clear who he was. “So, Jones. Those are some nasty marks on your neck there. He must have got you pretty good.” 

“These?” Alfred gestured to his neck, “Nah, no big issue. Now I can finally fit in with the other guys, am I right? They might not be killer scars or a kick-ass tattoo, but hey! Bruises are pretty cool, too!” 

“Hm... I read your file.” He said, folding his arms across his chest, “Attempted Murder… Interesting. Ironic to think that you’d be the one getting choked.” He had a small smirk on his face. 

“Is this about why I’m here? Yeah, I choked the guy. Big whoop! Just throwing this out there, but he isn’t so innocent either. I did it in self-defense, my dude,” Alfred seemed a bit irritated. The true story wasn’t put out there, as Alfred’s side of the story had been silenced long before it ever reached court. Why would anyone ever listen to the story of a defendant who was up against the most influential man in the entire city?

“What do you mean “he isn’t so innocent”? Wasn’t this all settled during your trial?”

“There were... things that were kept out....” many things, “Besides, even if the court did know, there wasn’t any proof. And, if there had been any, it would’ve been destroyed or covered up. The fucker I was up against is so rich he practically owns the police… hell, he practically owns this city, nowadays...” 

“This ‘Francis Bonnefoy’?” 

“Yeah. Don’t you know him? Wealthier than any person in this city? French, has a stupid face? Kind of a creep? Everybody knows him.” 

Arthur thought about it for a moment. He had known someone with the name ‘Francis’ back in England, when he was much younger. Could it possibly be the same man? “If you don’t mind, could you tell me the story? I mean, your story? What aren’t you telling us?” 

“If you have the time, I guess I could tell you. Just don’t get bored with me!” Alfred gave him a wink. 

“Right.. Now, start from the beginning.”


End file.
